March 25, 2020
by Nehszriah
Summary: Paralegal Michael Ortega didn't exactly hear stories of sunshine and flowers surrounding Simon Blackquill, but he did get to glimpse the side of the man the courtroom never saw. Fluff. Non-romantic.


So out of all the fandoms to have OCs for, I have OCs for Ace Attorney. Blame my friends, and the fact I channel a love of Klavier Gavin through one of them.

Also, I know pretty much jack about some of the subtleties of the AA world so please let me know if anything glaring crops up. It would be appreciated.

I don't own Ace Attorney, only a copy of Dual Destinies. Don't expect this to be anything but fluff and not very compelling.

* * *

March 25, 09:34

District Court - Prosecutor's Wing

"Ortega-dono?"

"Yes, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

"I require your assistance. My office, please."

Michael rolled his eyes as Simon Blackquill disappeared into his office, leaving the door open slightly. It had been less than a week since Michael had started working at the same facility as the dark, and frankly eccentric, prosecutor and this was the first time he had been summoned so… _ominously_.

"Good luck, _mi amigo_," the guy at the desk across from Michael chuckled. Instead of telling him off, Michael opted to slyly flip up his middle finger; telling him off would make it seem like he knew his name or something.

Michael made his way into the office and shut the door. It was dark, with the only light-source in the room coming from Blackquill's computer screen. The drapes were drawn shut despite it being midmorning, which was something quite unnerving to the paralegal.

"What did you need, sir?"

Blackquill leaned onto his folded hands, his elbows propping him up. "You have not been here all that long, am I correct?"

"Third day here." Okay…? What…?

"It might seem a mistake to trust you right off like this, but I am," Blackquill said. "Are you good with children?"

"I… uh… yeah?" Michael responded, not very sure of how to respond. "I have younger siblings—I hope I'm good with kids."

"Most excellent—please inform the secretary that you are running time-sensitive errands for me while I attend to this battery case that so graciously ate up the good portion of my entire week." He held out an envelope, which Michael took. "Please have everything done by this afternoon and meet me in the parking lot of the court building. I will be out as soon as the verdict is given in this crock of a case, which will no doubt take until lunch time."

"Alright. I'll see you then," Michael said. He then left the office and went back to his desk.

"So, what did Prosecutor Snape want?" asked the guy across the desk from Michael.

"He asked if I was good with kids and then if I could run errands," Michael answered as he put on his suit jacket. The other guy raised an eyebrow.

"What? Really?"

"Eh, I knew I'd get stuck running errands being the new guy," Michael shrugged. "It's weird, but fine."

"…but good with kids? I bet he sends adults running with that glare of his… can't even think about him around kids."

"None of my business," Michael said as he opened the envelope. He found some money, as well as a handwritten note of instruction. "Looks like I'm just picking things up. Piece of cake."

* * *

March 25, 13:06

District Court – Parking Lot

Michael stood awkwardly in the parking lot, leaning on the trunk of his beat-up, third-hand Ford Mustang. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as a storm front prepared to barrel over the city. The paralegal was just about to get back into his car when people began to file out of the courthouse. True to his word, Simon Blackquill came out almost immediately.

"Change of plans, Ortega-dono: get in my car," Blackquill said.

"What…?" Michael was confused.

"Get the stuff and get in my car," Simon said, clearly and slowly. He briskly walked over to an Alfa Romeo Giulia and hit the remote start on a key fob. "Hurry, or we will get caught in the storm."

"Uh… okay…" Michael said. He quickly popped open his trunk and removed a sparkly pink gift bag and cardboard box before closing it again. He quickly made his way over to the passenger side of the Alfa Romeo and hopped in.

"I take it nothing foxed you and you found everything alright?" Blackquill asked as he backed out the car at a sharp angle.

"Yeah," Michael said, "but I had to pull my sister out of class for half an hour because just writing 'Olivia Otus toy' is not much for me to go on."

"Oh, it couldn't have been that bad." Blackquill sped out of the parking lot and whipped onto the street. "She is an owl who fights crime… how difficult is that to understand?"

"Action figures, stuffed dolls, plastic dolls, different outfits… if my sister wasn't ten and knew which one was the popular one, I'd still be there."

"…but you got one, correct?"

"Yeah; the action figure with grappling hook and detachable cape. I almost got Madison Mongoose, but apparently that's the villain and my sister pitched a fit so that the store clerk would look in the back."

"Good."

Blackquill let loose the clutch and slammed the car into gear as he merged onto the highway. Michael grinned stupidly as he let the roar of the engine wash over him. The oncoming thunderstorm let lighting crack through the sky, warning of its presence.

"That's gonna be some storm when it comes through," Michael said.

"That storm is why I need you to come along," Blackquill explained. "We had set up the tables outside yesterday, but the storm front moved during the trial and now everything will be a disaster and _Cosmos-dono and Starbuck-dono will have done nothing to fix it_." He came into a corner tight, gripping the wheel with seething ire.

"For someone who doesn't seem like you've got kids, you sure do sound like a dedicated dad. She yours or hers," Michael commented, trying to keep the cardboard box even. Blackquill frowned.

"My sister's girlfriend's, to be precise."

"So your niece?"

"In a way."

Blackquill veered off the highway onto the exit ramp, not bothering to slow down. He made a few sharp, tight turns, disorienting Michael.

"Wait a second… where are we going?" Michael's dark skin paled a few shades as he tried to figure out where they were headed. "I don't think I've ever been here…"

"I would have been surprised if you had been, Ortega-dono," Blackquill said as he sped past a security checkpoint. He veered towards what looked like a tech complex and took a wide curve around the building. He parked near a group of three decorated tables, one of which already knocked over from the wind.

"Those bakas," Blackquill hissed as he got out of the car. "Ortega-dono! I need your help now!"

"O-okay…" Michael stammered. He unbuckled his seatbelt and tried not to trip over the gift bag on the floorboard as he got out of the car. The two men righted the fallen table, decked out in a starry-night table cloth, and carried it over to a nearby door. Blackquill pounded on it and a wiry teenage boy in a visor opened it.

"Oh! Hi Mr. Blackquill!" the teen said cheerily. Blackquill answered by dragging the table, and by proxy Michael, inside. It was a storage room, though there was not much being stored in it as far as Michael could tell.

"Quickly, help us get these tables inside," Blackquill ordered. The teen saluted and stuck a wedge under the door, propping it open so that he could help Blackquill bring in another table. Michael rushed back to the car and retrieved the bag and box, making it back inside as the first raindrops began to fall from the sky.

"That was close, Mr. Blackquill!" the teen chuckled as they got the last table inside. Michael shut the door behind them, just as the downpour began. "Who's your friend?"

Blackquill grumbled and made introductions quick. "Terran-kun, Ortega-dono, from the office; Ortega-dono, Terran-kun, a work-study here at GYAXA."

"We're at GYAXA? As in the space center?!" Michael gasped. "Shouldn't there be rockets outside or something?!"

"Those are over in the warehouse across the compound, prepping for attachment to the building," Terran-kun answered. "They're only about halfway done, so they can't be outside yet."

"Enough chit-chat; let's set this back up," Blackquill said. He had pulled a storage tote out from the corner of the room and was removing paper plates and plastic flatware from it. Before either of the other two could join in, a small girl came bolting into to the room and latched straight on to Blackquill.

"Simon! Simon! Simon! Simon! Simon! Simon!" she squealed. "Yay! You're here! You didn't forget!"

"Now why would I forget one of the biggest days of the year?" Michael watched in wonder as Blackquill picked the giggling girl up and twirled her around, a large, rare smile plastered on the stoic prosecutor's face.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Guess what I learned today from Mom!"

"What?"

"She taught me some German! She said if I'm really good, I might be able to stay with her brother in Frankfurt for the summer next year!"

"Oh yeah? What did you learn?" Blackquill put the girl down and listened intently as she stumbled over the rote words.

"Ich heisse Athena. Ich bin zehn Jahre alt. Mine Mutter ist Verhaltens… Verhaltens… Verhaltensforsherin."

"Look at you, Miss Fancy Pants, speaking another language! Now let's go see where everyone else is so we can get this party started," Blackquill smiled. The little girl giggled, beaming. Michael was impressed how the girl was able to transform the prosecutor infamous for his steely glare and abrasive courtroom manner into a laughing, doting uncle-figure.

It was almost... surreal.

* * *

March 26, 08:57

District Court - Prosecutor's Wing

Michael sat down at his desk and closed his eyes. The storms the previous day had lasted into the night, keeping him up with a seemingly endless supply of thunder and wind gusts. At least his yard did not flood this time around, he thought.

"Ortega-dono! Wake up!" Blackquill snapped. Michael jerked awake just in time to see Blackquill slam a pile of paperwork onto the paralegal's desk. "You haven't even been here a week and you're already sleeping on the job? I need these gone through and in my hand before the end of the day."

"Yes, sir," Michael replied, trying not to yawn. He watched as Blackquill stomped back to his office and shut the door. The guy sitting at the desk across from Michael chuckled.

"Wow… after spending all day doing his chores, you'd think he'd be a little more appreciative," he said. Michael released his yawn and shrugged.

"Eh, it's a living."

* * *

AN: It's a bit of a personal headcanon of mine that Athena's a late-March kid, being as I personally have quite a few of them in my family and know for a fact they can be an energetic and brash bunch.

My OC, Michael Ortega, is the same age as Simon Blackquill but is a paralegal at this stage in his life. He is not the one I use to channel my love of fake-German pop stars. That would be a different fan fiction.

The bit of German Athena says is "My name is Athena. I am ten years old. My mom is a behavioral scientist."


End file.
